Leave Death Waiting
by monkkeyslut
Summary: "What if I did go? What would life be like if I died?" Jason-centric. Pre-reboot.


**Hey guys. Lately I've been obsessed with the character Death, and so I've written a shitton of fic based on her and other characters. This one is obviously Jason. He's incredibly _hard_ to write, so I hope I've done him justice!**

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><p>"Hello, Jason," the voice says, and Jason grunts in response.<p>

She shows up occasionally, essence of death and carnage and _peace_ following her like a plague. When he glances back, narrowly dodges a punch from the guy he's fighting, he spots her. She stands at the mouth of the alley, blonde hair curling into smoke at the ends, eyes soulless and black, dress shimmering with the promise of something else. Sometimes, if he looks close enough, it's a field he's looking at. Sometimes.

Death steps forward, and the trash at her feet shrivels up, the metal pop cans crinkling and shrinking with each step, the bottles breaking. Jason turns back and pulls out his knife, aiming for the other man's gut. "Not really the time, sweetcheeks."

"Who ya' talkin' to Reddy?" His assailant lets out a laugh, something _awful_ that grates on Jason's nerves, and he slices a long cut up the man's leg. "You goin' fuckin' crazy or somethin'?"

"Something like that," Jason mutters, knife sinking into the other man's gut. "At least you won't be around to see it."

Blood bubbles from his mouth, dripping over his lips, and his eyes widen as he finally spots the girl behind Jason. Or maybe it's not a girl he sees. Maybe it's her true form, or maybe it's the reaper. He can't remember what he saw after he died.

Ten minutes later, he's stalking across rooftops, determined to make it home before she gets there. But he knows it's inevitable.

His apartment door opens, and when he walks in, she's standing at the dirty window, overlooking the street below. "Why this apartment?"

"Hello to you, too," he tosses his helmet to the couch, wincing as it rolls off with a _thud._ "What are you doing here?"

Death turns away; her form flickering to a skeletal figure with a scythe, to the cloaked figure that he sees children dress up as. But she shifts back to the other form; the girl.

"I reaped a man the other day," she murmurs, trailing a finger along the glass. It cracks in thousands of tiny spider webs, and Jason grits his teeth. "He wasn't very nice to me."

"Big deal," Jason looks into the fridge, scowling at the now-rotting food. "You're fuckin' up my apartment."

She looks at him, haunting eyes gazing into his soul, and he feels something close to fear, but shrugs it away. "Have you ever met Life?"

He shakes his head, plopping down at the table. She talks in riddles when she comes here; talks like she's as crazy as the Joker. _Well riddle me this, bitch,_ Jason thinks, and he knows she can hear him.

"He does not like you, Jason Todd. Does not like the way you have broken the balance of the world." Death sits across from him, and when he inhales, he can smell lilacs and mint candies, and he's six again, and his mother is tucking him in for bed, _Make sure you keep the bad dreams away, baby,_ she'd whisper. He hates Death.

"Well it's not like I can fix that, now can I?"

"Do you think you are ready to go, yet? I can make it painless. There shall be no need to meet Ker."

"Ker?" Jason's heard the name before, like a whisper of a whisper, but he can't place it. "The fuck is that?"

"Another persona of Death; A violent death."

Jason's head swims with the possibilities of the different personas, and he asks, "So which are you?"

"I am unsure," she says with an emotionless voice, and everything about her is emotionless. "Perhaps a normal Death."

"There's nothing normal about death," Jason mutters. Death looks at him, tilting her head to the side. Her hair falls off her shoulder, a thick lock falling to the ground, turning to wisps of smoke before it hits the ground. "There is much you do not know, Jason Todd."

"Yeah, well," he turns away, jaw clenched. "What if I did go? What would life be like if I died?"

Something appears in front of him, an orb of sorts, and he stares at the people in the picture; stares at the orb and watches his self-esteem lower.

"Nothing's changed?"

"Not true," Death replies, and her eyes have changed to a blood-red. "Bruce Wayne will be troubled by your death, if you choose to go now. If you choose to allow me to take you. Dick Grayson will also be troubled, as will Damian Wayne. But they know of Death, and they know you, and they will not dwell on it long."

"But that's it, huh?" He ignores the curling in his stomach. "Nobody else?"

"Perhaps the people you will not save. The women who are raped in murdered in your alleys while Batman fights the Joker, or the men that killed for not being able to pay a debt. They will miss you, Jason Todd, but they will not realize it."

"Then I don't wanna go," it sounds like a whine; like he's four years old and doesn't want to eat his broccoli. "Not if they'll need me. Not if they'll _forget me."_

"You humans," she shakes her head, furrowing her brows. "I do not understand you."

"I don't think you would," Jason answers honestly, eyeing her. "You're just a spirit. You don't know how we feel, or why we do."

"Very well," she murmurs; eyes back to the soulless black. "I will be back one day, Jason Todd, and I will be here to reap, not to give chances."

"I'll be waiting," he murmurs, and she disappears in the wind from the open window, leaving behind the stink of death.

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><p><strong>please review!<strong>


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